


Nothing in This World

by ArtemisRae



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon - Manga, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Post canon, Spoilers for End of Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRae/pseuds/ArtemisRae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times in Ed's life that he misses his sacrifice and one time that he really does mind not even a little bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing in This World

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Spoilers all over the damn place. Mostly fluff. I'm not sorry.

He knew there was no putting it off when the weather had dawned bright and clear; the rain had dried up and the clouds had cleared away, warming the ground without making it too uncomfortable to be outside. The sun was winking cheerfully at him, bright enough that he had to squint to look right at it.  
  
It was like a death sentence.  
  
Before noon Edward was sitting outside on the porch, staring down the object of contention: a beat up coffee table. He had run out of excuses. There was nothing else left to do. He’d worked through every single item on the to-do list that he, Winry, and Gran had put together when winter had started to break. This was the last item left.  
  
With a sigh he picked up the sandpaper and started to work. It wasn’t a very large table; he should be able to sand it down and refinish it within a day. It was just such an _annoying_ task – the repetition of the movement made his arm sore, the dust he was sloughing off made him cough, and the table was artfully carved, meaning there were nooks and crannies he had to work to get at.  
  
Overall, he was in a foul temper by the time Winry stepped outside, holding two glasses of iced tea. She offered one to Ed as he gazed up at her – her overalls were zipped up to her neck, all of her hair pulled back tightly, and if he looked closely he thought he could make out the imprint of the goggles around her eyes, all sure signs she’d been welding.  
  
“How’s it going?” she asked, and had the nerve to laugh at the unpleasant look Ed shot her in return. “Cheer up, Ed. It only needs to be done once.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Ed huffed, because it hadn’t escaped him that the enormous spring cleaning to-do list mainly came from her and Gran, and yet _he_ was the one who had handled many of the items listed. “You’ll probably have me out here next year doing the exact same thing. To the same table.”  
  
Winry laughed again and nudged him with her leg. “If this needs doing next spring then you clearly didn’t do –” She cut herself off at the dirty look Ed shot her, because she was allowed to tease him but should really know when to pick her moment. Now? Really? When he’s actually doing a fan-freaking-tastic job on this table, just for her? “Then we clearly need to cut our losses and throw out the table.”  
  
He growled, all bark and no bite, picking up his sandpaper once again. Winry looked at her watch. “As soon as I’m done I’ll come out and help you, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Ed replied glumly, staring down the table and trying to formulate his plan of attack.  
  
He heard the door slam as Winry went back into the house and with a sigh leaned back and ran his hands through his bangs. Another day, another time, and all he’d have to do was figure out the ingredients in the finish and turn it over with the clap of his hands. He probably could have turned it directly instead of converting the old finish to…  
  
That was exactly where that train of thought ended. Following alchemic theory was like chasing a mouse – he could almost grab it, right until it ran into the wall, just out of reach. He could hear it, see evidence of it, but it wasn’t within his grasp.  
  
Viciously, he flipped the table and attacked the still shiny underbelly. No point in dragging out a single day’s project into two.  
  


***

  
  
Rain fell in sheets, drenching him and everyone around him. The ground gave beneath his feet, his boots sinking practically to his ankles with every step as he tried in vain to keep sopping bangs out of his face. He’d thrown back his hood some time ago – the wind was gusting, and attempting to keep dry was a fruitless effort – and as a result he could feel water dripping down his back as he moved.  
  
The spring rains didn’t always flood the river, but this year the weather had snapped after the last snow, which brought both snow melt and torrential rains down upon Risembool. The sky had been dark for _days_. It seemed like the only light that had graced the countryside in the last week had been the occasional lightning flashing underneath the black clouds.  
  
Ed had lost track of time awhile back – it wasn’t like he had the sun to follow. They could have been out an hour or so, or they could have been out all morning trying to shore up the riverbank. With a grunt he heaved another sandbag onto the top of the pile, eyeing the cresting waves apprehensively. The river didn’t border Rockbell property, and the Elric property ran even farther back but the crops of a few fed a town of many. The town couldn’t afford to both lose money from crops _and_ pay to repair damages.  
  
He craned his head back to try and look downstream, where another group was working. Winry was in that group, Ed knew, but he could barely make out Mr. Foster standing right next to him, let alone Winry a hundred or so yards away.  
  
It wasn’t exactly a thrilling thought, knowing she was out working in this. Winry was one of the strongest people he knew, and Ed had no doubt she was more than capable – not to mention, they needed every single able-bodied person out to help. All he could do was hope the rain broke soon.  
  
The river roared; Ed frowned as he watched it sweep away. He hadn’t seen it like this since he was a kid –  
  
Actually. He hadn’t seen it like this since the night Izumi and Sig Curtis arrived in Risembool just in time to build a wall to protect them from a rising river. He’d been young, anxious, and determined to help everyone along with Al; seeing what Izumi had been capable of had made him absolutely desperate to learn from her. He wasn’t positive he and Al could communicate via telepathy (data was still being gathered) but it was one of the few points in his life where he and his brother hadn’t needed words to communicate. _They needed this woman._  
  
It had been such a long time since Ed had used alchemy – or even _thought_ about using alchemy. His initial thought had been to wish that Izumi or Alphonse were travelling through the area.  
  
Then with a jolt Ed abruptly realized that at one point _he_ would have been able to help.  
  
Before he could tease that thought out any further, however, Mr. Foster shouted, “Here’s another one Ed!” and dumped a new sandbag into his arms.  
  


***

  
  
Around sunset they lit the lanterns and, taking a rest from dancing, Ed couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the process, the yellow glow of the lights flashing on like fireflies across the field.  
  
“Ed?” Winry’s voice, and her fingers pinching teasingly at his side. “Are you okay? Did you drink too much?”  
  
His head swiveled to look at her, and he felt his face heat up all over again. He thought Winry was pretty on a bad day. On a day like today, with her hair pulled back and her face flushed with excitement, wearing a simple white dress – well, Ed didn’t think a prettier bride existed. There was a thrill in his chest, knowing he was responsible for her joy. He could scarcely believe it was happening.  
  
The most formal parts of the day were long past. Everyone had changed into more comfortable shoes and shed their jackets. The late summer weather had cooperated exactly as desired, giving them a warm sunny afternoon without the unbearable heat of midsummer, and now night was coming over the horizon, crisp and clean and refreshing but not chilly. Not many of the guests were still picking at dinner, though food and drink remained plentiful; most were up and keeping pace with the cheerful beat of the band.  
  
“I’m fine,” he reassured her, reaching for her hand and entwining their fingers. “I haven’t had anything since the toast.”  
  
She raised one eyebrow. “Whose toast?” Winry challenged, and Ed barked a laugh. It seemed like the entire afternoon had been spent listening to speech after speech. And calls for them to kiss. Ed hadn’t minded the latter as much as the former; he’d never realized, until he and Winry had sat down and tried to plan a wedding, exactly how many acquaintances he’d made on his journey, how many people were invested in him and his future and wanted to send their well wishes.  
  
Alphonse approached at that moment and leaned over Winry’s shoulder to kiss her on the cheek. “This is going well, isn’t it?”  
  
“Beautifully,” Winry agreed, beaming at him. “I was so afraid it was going to rain this morning too!”  
  
Al looked up. “Nope,” he said slowly, a grin crawling across his face. “Sky is clear. Perfect for one of your wedding gifts.”  
  
“Eh?” Al ignored their questions, and with the signal of his hand the music died down. A murmur rose up from the confused crowd, but it quickly died away as fireworks burst across the sky, booming loudly and raising a cheer among the guests.  
  
Winry gasped and clapped her hands. “Did you do this Alphonse?” she asked, not taking her eyes away from the show.  
  
“I found them in Xing,” he admitted. “I brought home some books. Me and Roy spent last week mixing them up.”  
  
“Mustang did these?” Ed demanded, craning his head to look past Winry and up at his brother.  
  
“I think he enjoyed it a little too much,” Al admitted, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to Winry. “You shoulda seen the look on his face when we were testing them. I haven’t seen him having that much fun since he realized you two were actually dating.”  
  
“Hush up and watch!” Winry ordered, gently slapping both of the boys on the knee. “Al, they’re _beautiful_.”  
  
Ed turned to look at her; he could still see the fireworks out of the corner of his eye, but he found the way the colors reflected off of Winry’s pale hair and white dress far more captivating. Her eyes were wide, her expression almost childlike as she watched the fireworks lighting up the sky.  
  
It didn’t hit him suddenly, like a lightning bolt. The thought strayed across his mind, like a snippet of voice speaking clearly through static: _he wished he could give her this_.  
  
She was his _wife_ now. He should be able to give her everything she wanted.  
  
And then Winry turned her head and beamed at him, squeezing his hand in hers, and the thought was lost, dissolved back in the static once again.  
  


***

  
  
“It looks like we’re snowed in,” Ed said quietly, looking up over Al’s shoulders and staring out the window. “I’m glad you came home yesterday.”  
  
Al sat up from the map he’d been slumped over and turned in his chair to look at the snow piling over the path that led to the house. “I’m glad we caught that train. We almost missed the connection in Eastern City because it had already started sleeting there. We got on the last train out.”  
  
“This looks like it’s gonna be a bad one,” Ed observed, standing up and walking to the window to look out. It had been snowing steadily since breakfast; the drifts were starting to pile up under the windows and against the door. Mentally Ed found himself going through their cabinets – they’d stocked up on more than enough food in anticipation of Al and Mei’s visit, so they shouldn’t run out of any necessities if they were snowed in for a few days.  
  
Al’s eyes were bright. “I haven’t seen snow in almost two years,” he said, and there was a note of surprise in his voice as he realized. “We’ve only visited Risembool in the spring and summer.”  
  
Ed opened his mouth to respond, but the words never got out; they were interrupted by a bizarre screech of metal and a shriek of pain from the direction of Winry’s workshop.  
  
For a beat he and Al stared at each other dumbly. Then they were both scrambling out of the room, racing down the hall in the direction they’d heard the noise come from. Ed’s heart was racing; weird sounds came out of the workshop all the time, but somehow he knew, he _knew_ that it was really bad this time, that this wasn’t just a pinched finger or a crushed toe.  
  
He met Winry in the hallway, barreling out of the workshop, cradling her hand against her chest. Her eyes were wide, her eyebrows knitted in pain, her face pale, but other than that she looked calm.  
  
“What happened?” Ed demanded, reaching for her. At first Winry shrank away, refusing to let him see, but he grasped her by the wrist, tugged away the rag she had wrapped around the hand.  
  
“Don’t touch it, don’t touch it!” Winry babbled, her shoulders tensing. “Put pressure on it, keep pressure on it.”  
  
Ed recoiled, his stomach curdling; her hand had been cut, badly, halfway across the palm, shredding the skin. Blood was dripping down her forearm.  
  
“I was working on the surface grinder and I just – I didn’t look –” Winry tried to take her hand back, but Ed’s grip was steady. “Go get Gran, keep pressure on it.”  
  
“Son of a – Winry! This looks –” He thought he could see _bone_. He wasn’t necessarily prone to panicking, but this was a serious injury – especially to someone like Winry, who needed her hands for work.  
  
“Winry,” Al interrupted gently, nudging Ed aside and taking her by the elbow. He led her down the hall back towards the library where he and Ed had been working. “Mei!”  
  
The dark haired girl appeared, eyebrows raised. “Oh!” she exclaimed, seeing the dark red staining Winry’s shirt. “I have my knives. Come here.”  
  
It only took a minute for them to draw the circle and place the knives, but it felt like an eternity to Ed, who could only stand by and watch his wife bleed. When the light flashed Winry straightened up in surprise, flexing her hand.  
  
“Wow…” she said quietly, examining closely where the wound had once been. “That’s amazing! It won’t even scar.”  
  
“Let me see,” Ed insisted, reaching for her.  
  
“Take it easy for a day or two,” Al advised. “Rest it until tomorrow. But it should be okay.”  
  
Ed cradled Winry’s hand, rubbing his thumbs gently over the imagined scar. It was luck, pure luck, that Alphonse and Mei had been home when this happened. Ed wasn’t dumb; automail engineers were injured all the time if they weren’t careful. Without Al and Mei, he knew, Winry would have needed stitches at the very least, would have been off work for _weeks_ while it healed – if it even healed entirely.  
  
His heart was still pumping. He spared a glance at the circle Al and Mei had drawn on the floor, noticing the light glancing off of Mei’s knives. The lines meant nothing to him, were nothing more than blurry scribbles. What would he do the next time, he couldn’t help wondering, if Al and Mei weren’t there to help?  
  


***

  
  
The sun would be setting soon – a glance out the window showed long shadows stretching across the yard, the sky orange – and logically Ed knew he should be exhausted. He’d been up for longer than 24 hours at this point, pulling more than an all-nighter, but time had become somewhat meaningless a while back, and he wasn’t even tired at this point anyway.  
  
Winry yawned and snuggled into his shoulder. She was even worse off than he was - _she_ was the one who’d done all the work over the last day and a half – but she wasn’t nodding off either. Both of them had their eyes locked on the bundle of red blankets in Alphonse’s arms.  
  
“He is beauuuuutiful,” Alphonse crooned, shifting his weight from leg to leg gently. With one hand he palmed the baby’s skull, stroking the pale strands of hair across his soft skin. “Look at him!”  
  
“Yeah he is,” Ed murmured in agreement. He felt the press of Winry’s chest as she chuckled in amusement at Ed’s casual arrogance. “That’s our kid. What else’d you expect?”  
  
Al rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re taking to fatherhood well. Did you pick a name or not?”  
  
Ed crossed his eyes right back. “Yeah, we’ve been talking about it.”  
  
They’d agreed on something fairly early on: that they wanted to honor someone they loved. And it would have been settled there, without a question, if not for the conversation he and Alphonse had gone through the first time Al had asked about the subject.  
  
 _“Yeah, we’re talking about it,” Ed had dodged, and Alphonse, who was the only person on the planet who knew him as well as Winry, immediately pegged what Ed was dancing around.  
  
“You’re not thinking of naming it after me, are you Ed?” Alphonse had asked sternly, and Ed blushed before he could deny. “You are, aren’t you?”  
  
“Hey, it’s none of your damn business what I call my kid!” Ed had asserted, but Alphonse remained unmoved.  
  
“Seriously Ed, don’t saddle a kid with_ Alphonse. _” he'd insisted. “It’s cruel.”_  
  
“You’re assuming I have any part of this decision,” Ed had declared. “Winry’s the one who’s deciding in the end.”  
  
Now he looked at Winry, who smiled at Al. “We took your request into consideration,” she informed him sweetly, her voice weary but joyful. “And we are not naming him Alphonse.”  
  
His brother raised his eyebrows, and Winry continued.  
  
“We’re calling him Alec,” she finished triumphantly, and Alphonse’s mouth dropped open.  
  
“I think that’s cheating,” he said shakily, his eyes gazing back at the baby.  
  
Ed had intended to retort – the crack had been right on the tip of his tongue – but something about the tone of Al’s voice and the adoring look in his eyes suddenly made Ed’s throat close up. It had come along with the realization that he had reached this moment against all odds, that years ago, the thought that he could be here with his flesh and blood brother holding a flesh and blood child, safe and sound with a family he’d rebuilt himself was entirely inconceivable.  
  
Even though his journey was far away, Ed couldn’t help thinking that he’d repeat every step, every circle, and every sacrifice without hesitation if it meant he got back to where he was in this moment.  
  
“Hey,” he ordered suddenly, poking Al with his foot. “Quit hogging him. Give him back to Granny before she gets angry.”  
  


_End_


End file.
